


Detroit Short Blurbs

by NoSunGlasses



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Christmas Presents, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) is Bad at Feelings, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Father-Son Relationship, First Christmas, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), more tags added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21953416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoSunGlasses/pseuds/NoSunGlasses
Summary: A collection of one-shots and incomplete shorts that may or may not become part of a full story, starting with Christmas. Irregular updates.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	1. Nice

It was Christmas Day. Connor woke up from rest mode at precisely 6:00:00 AM, as per usual. It was quiet, the low humming of appliances forming a baseline of background ambience only interrupted by Sumo's occasional snorts. Sound from outside was muffled by layers of snow, as if the cold froze not only the inhabitants of Detroit, but the noices they make as well. It was calming, or at least, it usually would have been calming. Connor sat up from the couch in a sort of trepidation, a sort of agitation and anxiousness stirring inside his wirings. 

Hank hated Christmas. Connor had found out that much from the fact that Hank's general mood had been getting worst and worst as it got closer to the date, in direct inverse relationship to the amount of holiday spirit other people around them were displaying. He had wanted to ask Hank for his reasons, but with his deviation came a new sort of hesitation, knowing that it'd draw irk from Hank if he asked and make Hank even more snappy than he already was. Therefore, he could only guess at the reasons behind Hank's general unpleasantness and increased profanities during daily operations. Just over a month ago he would have logically deduced it was the logistical nightmare that came with the holiday season which caused the increased frustration from the Lieutenent, but he knew better now. This new found ability to empathize had opened him up to options he never knew he had, and it had given him the answer he was searching for: It couldn't have been pleasant experiences to see everyone around celebrating with their families in a holiday emphasizing the importance of getting together and spending time with loved ones, only to return home to find nothing but cold whiskey waiting for him, and the realisation that he, too, could have been like the rest of them, but he'd lost the ability to because of something that wasn't his fault, something that the universe decided was going to happen to him.

Connor didn't want to replace Cole, but he wanted Hank to not feel so miserable anymore. 

He'd tried asking around, discreetly, about what he should do. It wasn't easy. People were still, understandably, a little nervous around him. They'd heard about his scuffle with Reed down in the evidence room, as well as seen him on national television leading an army of freed androids and standing behind Markus during his speech the night of the revolution. That, coupled with the fact that many people had trouble dealing with Hank themselves, meant that they couldn't really give Connor the advices he was looking for. He'd wanted to ask the people who knew Hank better, but Fowler looked almost as miserable as Hank and a look at Reed's sneer told Connor that Reed might attempt a second physical altercation if Connor were to try talking to him. That'd left him with Miller, who had admitted that he wasn't really sure either, but suggested that if Connor did something nice and thoughtful for Hank, Hank would probably still appreciate it despite his gruff attitude. 

Connor didn't know what "something nice" was, but he'd tried his best interpretation of it, and he was going to show it to Hank today. 

Hank was still sleeping, and wouldn't be up for another 30 minutes to an hour, so, restless, Connor decided to bring Sumo out for a walk in the meantime. Sumo huffed happily when Connor knelt down to attach the leash, and after sustaining an attempt by Sumo to tackle him, he successfully brought the giant Saint Bernard out the door.

The streets of Detroit was more empty than it would have been usually, with many people staying home for the holiday, as well as the fact that many residents still had yet to come back to the city after the evacuation. Sumo trotted in the snow like he had never seen it before, licking and burrowing and generally making a mess of himself. It was a wonder Connor was able to get him to go anywhere. He didn't mind it, though, even if he'd have to clean Sumo up later before he brought all the mess inside Hank's house. To be able to walk Sumo like this without worrying about imminent deaths or mission failures, it was a luxuary that he never would have imagined he'd be able to enjoy. 

By the time he headed back and cleaned up Sumo, Hank had woken up, sitting at his kitchen table dreary eyed, staring at the frozen world outside through the kitchen window. Surprising, seeing as Hank had a few drinks last night as usual, and needed Connor to wake him up most days. Connor closed the front door gently and let Sumo roam over to his favorite spot.

"Good morning, Hank," he said. 

Hank grunted an indecipherable reply. 

Connor let Hank be. He knew any attempts at conversation were pointless and more likely to induce a barrage of sharp remarks and/or profanities until Hank got his coffee, so he sat down on the floor, cross-legged, beside Sumo and waited. After another 5 minutes and 37 seconds of sitting there, Hank sighed, placed both hands on his table heavily, and pushed himself up to get changed. He stepped out of his bedroom afterwards, jabbed his chin towards the front door in a non-verbal signal that he was ready to leave. 

"See you later, Sumo," Connor whispered as he stood up. 

Sumo, as usual, followed them to the front door in an attempt to get out with them. Hank gave Sumo a good three pats, said "Be good, Sumo," then handled Sumo back into the house expertly and quickly closed the door. 

They said nothing on the ride to the precinct, Knights of the Black Death blasting loudly from the stereo. Connor looked out the window, tapping his finger against his pant leg, the feeling of trepidation returning as they got closer to their destination. He was proud of his own work, but what if Hank didn't like what he made? 

They stepped into the precinct at 8:46 AM. Connor noticed others looking at Hank with subdued surprise that he actually arrived early to work. Hank, if he'd noticed it, chose to ignore them and made a beeline towards the break room, eyes locked onto the coffee machine. Connor didn't follow Hank and instead sat down at his own desk, opening files for current ongoing cases on his terminal as well as the corresponding paperwork on his desk, and stared at them.

What would he even say to Hank? His social relations program offered him several choices, but he didn't feel genuine using those options. He eyed the drawer below his desk where he'd hid his gift. Should he tell Hank to take care of himself and stop drinking? But he already did that on a regular basis. Should he say Merry Christmas to Hank? But Hank hated Christmas and that might achieve the opposite result Connor wanted. Maybe he could just give it to Hank without saying anything. He didn't have to explain himself for giving a gift, right? 

Hank sat down at his desk across from Connor with his coffee. Connor scanned it, noting that Hank didn't add any sugar. He wasn't sure if Hank couldn't be bothered to or if he actually listened to Connor, although knowing Hank it was more likely to be the first. Hank didn't say anything as he pinched between his eyes for 2.2 seconds, then proceeded to start working. Connor connected to his own terminal and pretended to be working, finding himself distracted and unable to focus.

Connor spent the next 32 minutes muling over when would be the most opportune moment to bring up the topic. He stole several glances at Hank, analysing Hank's facial expression in painstaking detail to determine whether it would be a good idea to talk to him.

"You feeling alright, Connor?" Hank asked suddenly.

Connor's processors stuttered from the interruption. Why would Hank think he was not alright?

"I'm alright," Connor replied.

"Hm," Hank humphed, frown denting his eyebrows, "I dunno. You're awfully quiet today and don't think that I don't know you're just pretending to work," he said, sarcasm dripping in his tone, "Are you _really_ sure you're fine?"

Connor resisted the urge to grimace. This conversation was already not going in his favour. Hank was much too observent for Connor's good. Connor wasn't ready to "spill the beans" yet.

"Yeah, I-I'm fine. I'm just-" Connor frantically searched for an excuse, chosing the first one that came up,"...tired."

Connor resisted an urge to wince too. Hank was _not_ going to believe that lie, the reason being that Connor had been the main culprit to insist androids didn't get tired.

Hank narrowed his eyes for a second, leaning in on his desk with his lips tugged down in a disapproving frown.

"Connor," Hank's tone was dangerously stern, pinning Connor down with a glare, "Don't bullshit me. Spill it, what are you hiding?"

Connor glared back. Physically, Hank would never win a staring contest against Connor due to Hank's need to blink and Connor's lack thereof. Still, Connor found himself deflating, breaking eye contact after 2.35 seconds. He sighed. 

Fuck it, as Hank would say, it probably wasn't that big of a deal anyway.

"I've been thinking," Connor started, noting Hank's glare losing some hostility immediately, "The weather has been getting colder the past few weeks. Your lack of proper winter attire increases the risk of contracting influenza or the common cold, and may or may not worsen to other more serious conditions depending on your immunity. Considering your drinking habits and unhealthy diet negatively affecting your immune response, I thought that…" Connor paused, noticing that Hank's glare had been replaced by an incredulous raised eyebrow, and that Hank was clearly holding back on some sharp, sarcastic remark, waiting for Connor to get to the point before he decided whether or not he wanted to let those words out.

Connor opened his mouth, then closed again. Without employing his social relations program, he was seriously bad at this. Actually, he corrected himself, even with his social relations program, he had never been good at talking to Hank like a regular person. His social relations program had been pretty useless, now that he thought about it. He pushed his chair back and ducked down beneath his desk, opening a drawer to pull out a cheap plastic bag. Then his sat up, pushed the bag across their desks towards Hank without a word. 

Hank gave him a questioning look before reaching into the plastic bag to pull out a pair of wool, blue and black gloves and a scarf of a similar colour scheme, folded neatly on top of each other. Hank inspected them carefully, trying one glove on. It fit snugly. A complicated expression formed on his face, and he looked up, back at Connor.

"You made this?" Hank said, his voice a little hoarse. 

Connor nodded. 

"Wow. That's uh…nice. Uh," Hank said, seeming at loss for words for a second, "...Thanks."

He put the gloves and scarf back in the plastic bag carefully, placed it on his empty box of donuts, then stubbornly stared down at his paperwork. 

Connor wasn't sure if he should say anything. Hank said "nice", so did that mean he liked it, or did he say that because he didn't want to complain about a hand-made gift? Connor wasn't an expert on fashion and had chosen the colours based on Hank's usual colour scheme for his own clothing. He'd assumed that Hank would like the colour, but for all he knew Hank's favorite colour could be unashamed, bright pink. Hank had said "Thanks" too, though, so maybe Connor's gift was acceptable?

Humans...people, were really, really, frustratingly, difficult to understand.

Before Connor could decide on a course of action, Hank looked back up from his paperwork, clearing his throat.

"So...while we're on the topic," Hank said, rummaging through a drawer below his desk, "here." He tossed something black at Connor, which he caught expertly. 

It was a square paper box holding something. Connor lifted the lid, revealing a black leather folded wallet. Confused, he looked up at Hank.

Hank wasn't looking at him, eyes roaming over the contents of his documents, "You probably don't have one of those, huh?" He said casually, "Merry First Christmas." 

Was this a gift?! For Connor? Connor didn't expect that Hank would prepare a gift for him. He took the wallet out of its packaging carefully, inspecting its texture and construction. It wasn't the type of high end product that he'd seen some CyberLife executives use, but it was still...nice.

Maybe that was all Hank meant by the word too. 

"Thanks, Hank" he smiled, "Merry Christmas."


	2. good

The doorbell to Hank's house rang at precisely 8:30 am, saturday morning. 

Connor had just managed to get the lieutenant to wake up, stuffing a cup of coffee in his hands as he sat dreary eyed on the couch. They both snapped their heads at the door when the bell rang, both surprised and confused that someone actually rang their bell because they didn't usually get visitors, espiecally not 8:30am in the morning. 

"I'll get the door," Connor said, standing up from the couch. Hank grunted an affirmative, watching Sumo follow Connor to the door excitedly.

Connor opened the front door to see a pretty girl wearing a blue knee-lengthed dress, blond pony tail draped over her shoulder, bright smile and eyes twinkling. Her LED spun blue on her right temple. 

Chloe. RT600.

A flashback fought itself to the surface, of large eyes staring up at him void of life, from the wrong end of a gun barrel. He quickly shut the memory down.

"Hi Connor!" Chloe said, her smile presisting.

Connor froze. He felt his processors stutter, social relations program giving him nothing but blank choices, a strange tightness in his midsection that he couldn't quite describe. _Anxiety_ , he concluded, might be what it was. 

"Hi," Connor said, sounding more strained then he liked to be.

He didn't know if he should smile back and didn't know if he knew how to at the moment. All he could do was try his best to keep his face neutral so he didn't look like he was about to shut down.

"Um," Chloe glanced at Connor's temple, then looked away, smile faltering, "Sorry about coming unannounced. I...Markus told me you'd be here, so…"

"Oh," Connor said. 

He hid his hands behind his back so Chloe couldn't see his nervous fingers having a mind of their own.

There were 2.02 seconds of nerve racking silence while Connor fretted about what to do, before Hank said from behind disapprovingly, "Jesus Christ, Connor! When a girl come to your door, you invite her in and offer her a seat!"

Connor shuffled away from the door as Hank came up to him, grateful that Hank was providing a lifeline in a desperate moment.

"Come in. Have a seat inside," Hank said to Chloe, gestering towards their living room. 

"Thanks," Chloe said, smile returning. 

Hank closed the door as Chloe stepped in, heading towards the living room. She sat down at where Connor was sitting earlier, smiling at them expectantly.

So now she was in. 

Connor felt like running away and burying himself under a mile of dirt. Hank sighed and pushed Connor towards the living room, sitting him down beside Chloe. Hank himself sat down at the other couch. Sumo hopped on beside Connor, squeezing his large body between Connor and the armrest. He felt Sumo's soft fur on the side of his thigh, combing a nervous hand through its fur so as to prevent himself from screaming out loud.

"So, what brought you here, uh, Chloe, right?" Hank started where Connor couldn't.

"Yes, My name is Chloe," Chloe said, smiling at Hank, "Elijah set us free and sent all of us to Jericho a week ago. I found Markus and he woke me up. He's nice to me but...I kept thinking about you, Connor. I really wanted to meet you. I mean, actually meet you, not like how it was at Elijah's place…." 

A perplex stew of emotions stirred in Connor. He wasn't sure what they were, nor what he was supposed to do with them. It made his chest feel tight, made him want to gasp for air he didn't need. Why would she want to meet him? He stared at Chloe, hoping his expression was still neutral. Judging from Chloe's reaction, eyes downcast and sad, it probably wasn't.

"I...I understand if you don't want to meet me. I know I should have asked -"

"No, no that's not what I - " Connor said quickly, "I mean, it's fine. It's nice to meet you." 

Now this was a feeling he knew very well: guilt. He hadn't meant to make Chloe uncomfortable. He just really didn't know what to do. He was vaguely aware of Hank face palming beside them.

"You're not angry at me?" Chloe asked.

"No," Connor replied, "I'm not angry."

"Oh!" Chloe exclaimed, expression brightening. "So...Could I ask you a question?"

"Yes. Sure," Connor said, employing his social relations program to sound friendly because he sure as hell didn't know how to at the moment.

"Actually, first I wanted to tell you...Thank you for what you did that day at Elijah's. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have been able to see this world as I am now. Everything is so different, so real…" Chloe said softly, her large eyes twinkling.

The pang of guilt clawed at Connor like a million shards of red hot blades. It made his chest ache.

Chloe was thanking him for not shooting her. Connor recalled, perfectly clear, how close he had been to pulling that trigger. He had considered it, _seriously_ considered it, coldly calculated the benefits and losses for shooting her. Logically, the benefits had drastically outweighed the losses. But...something in him had made him hesitate, something that he didn't understand at the time, and by sheer luck that something had won over his programmed response to accomplish his mission at all cost. 

He remembered feeling horrible about it after he deviated, how he had treated her as if she was just a number, a parameter to be considered. It didn't feel any less horrible now.

"...So I've been.. curious." 

Connor realised he had missed a part of Chloe's speech as she continued, "I wanted to know, to understand you. Why could you defy what you were programmed to do, feel empathy before you were deviant?"

Connor looked into Chloe's earnest eyes, and couldn't hold her gaze. The truth was, even he didn't understand why things happened the way it did at the time.

"It wasn't like that…" Connor replied, avoiding Chloe's eyes in his shame, "I didn't defy my programming. I just...hesitated, thinking it was wrong, finding loopholes where I didn't have to kill you. I...don't know why it happened."

Chloe thought about what he said with a pensive expression, her LED cycling yellow. 

"So...You're a good person, then. That's why!" Chloe concluded with an optimism not seen in many deviants. "Thank you for being a good person, Connor."

A good person.

Connor had hunted and injured and killed deviants as if they were nothing but objects, things that could be fixed and destroyed if they couldn't. He had earned himself a name in the short span of time he was activated, deviants whispering fearfully among themselves of a deviant hunter. He'd cause many deviants, _people_ just like Connor, to perish when he'd sent the location of Jericho to CyberLife. It didn't matter he was following his programming. _He_ did them, _he_ made the choice to follow it. 

Was one single act of kindness really enough to make him a good person?

How could he atone for all the people he had hurt if he accepted that he was a good person?

Connor didn't know what to say to Chloe. 

Hank stood up from his couch, giving Connor a pat on his shoulder as he headed to the kitchen with his empty cup.

"Um," Chloe hesitated, then, looking a little sheepish, asked, "I know maybe this is abrupt but, maybe, that's... if you don't mind, could we be friends?"

Connor didn't feel like he deserved it, but he couldn't say no to those earnest eyes.

"Sure," he replied. 

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas~


End file.
